Drake's Drum
by scousemuz1k
Summary: Tony and Gibbs at loggerheads, during and after a trip to Rota. Both have secrets, or think they have. Team fic, Tony-centric
1. Chapter 1

**AN: takes place around the beginning of season 8. Lots of spoilers for lots of eps in lots of seasons. I read somewhere that there's an episode in season 8, which I haven't seen yet as we're about six weeks behind over here, which suggests that people know Tony turned down Rota. **

**This story is based on the assumption that Gibbs knows, although Tim and Ziva don't. It's also making use of the extreme brittleness of Gibbs' character at the beginning of this season, which ( and I know I always see things from Tony's point of view) DiNozzo seemed to cop most of. I've not gone into all the details of the case, as the story begins when it's closed.**

**Apologies to any Spanish readers for my rather jingoistic mood, but…Google Drake's Drum. Read the poem, listen to the song. If you're in England, go and see it. If you're planning a trip over here, put it on your itinerary. When I saw it, it made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. It's just, wow…**

Drake's Drum

by scousemuz1k

"Where the hell is DiNozzo?" Mmm… not 'DiNozzo and Ziva' – just 'DiNozzo'.

The bear growled loudly enough for Tony to hear it, where he sat behind the container on a tarpaulin covered lord-knows-what, looking out across the bay. On a clear day, he'd been told, you could easily see Cadiz, on its spit of land only seven miles away, and the whole round sweep of the bay, deep Atlantic blue. He'd not seen it yet. Today, as for the last three days, it was grey… shore, sky and water alike, and the city was invisible. At least today it wasn't raining, but sunny Spain was saying 'you shouldn't have come, DiNozzo,' in the clearest way she could.

"Tony's taking a breather, Boss."

"A _breather_?" The bear really hadn't talked to Tony, or about Tony, in anything but that growl, since he'd lost track of when. Well, since Al-ey-_han_-dro and Paloma, maybe?

"Boss, he found a way of getting the evidence out without the Port Authority being able to make difficulties; he supervised the loading, then he went to deal with the lovely Senora Tavares, to try to make peace, and make sure she doesn't try to stop the truck from using their access roads."

"Truck?" Gibbs seemed to be doing a lot of echoing, his SFA thought sardonically, but since McGee was more than holding his own, he opted for staying where he was, and being grateful for the stout defence.

"Yeah. I'll show you." The sound of the container doors being opened indicated that Tim was showing the Boss what they'd been up to. "He came back muttering about the Spanish Inquisition and saying that the Senora could have given Torquemada a lesson or two."

Too right, Tony thought, without even a glimmer of Monty Python. In the end he'd undone any good impression he might have made by reminding the lady rather firmly that the decision was for a much higher authority than hers to make, and had already _been_ made in the USA's favour, which was true.

He sighed. None of the events of the past four days had taken place outside of the US Naval Base, or impinged even slightly on the workings of the port, or the safety of its people; not the murder of the sailor, nor the uncovering of the smuggling ring, nor the minor shoot-out. Well, except for the activities of the mini sub, of course… The senora was mad that vehicles carrying contraband had run through her territory unchecked for at least a year, and yesterday, instead of Gibbs pointing out helpfully that they wouldn't be doing it any more, he'd asked her what her port police had been doing in all that time. Not a help, Boss… But since her attempts to charm the Marine hadn't worked, she'd grown more confrontational, until Gibbs didn't feel obliged to be polite any more.

Another sigh; Tony knew if he'd been translating, not Ziva, instead of tear-arseing around the innards of an aircraft carrier after an errant fitter, it probably would have gone more smoothly. He'd have taken the edge off both parties' abrasiveness in his interpretation, without actually mis-translating. Ziva would see no reason to mollycoddle; he knew that a spade would have been called a spade in fine detail, even before he got Tim's blow-by-blow account of what happened, but what the hell… the mini-sub and all the other evidence was in the container, a 'Baby Herc' was being despatched to the airport, the crane was standing by and the truck was on its way, with Ziva riding shotgun.

"So, I told him to go chill until you got back from briefing the Admiral, or Ziva got here with the truck."

"What about you? You were shot!"

"Yesterday, Boss. Crease to the arm, you know that. Nothing wrong with my legs. Tony really wouldn't let me do anything much of the loading, so I'm fine. And I wasn't left on my own;" Tony could hear the younger agent's grin, "Agent Cecil's over there."

Gibbs apparently looked across to where one of Brian Moreton's team stood disconsolately, guarding the gateway onto the quay, (possibly as his last act on that team,) since he snorted derisively. They all knew what they thought of Moreton's efforts.

The container doors clanged shut, and Tony waited for a comment on his ingenuity. It didn't come, and the cycle of thoughts began again. Either McGee didn't know he was here, or, more likely, he wasn't telling Gibbs, for which, again, he was grateful. He couldn't deal with the Boss right now except on the most superficial of levels, and he didn't really know why – except that coming _here _had a lot to do with it. Or at least, with bringing it to a head.

He looked across the bay again, where the haze was a little less, and, now that he was about to go just as soon as the truck arrived, was beginning to faintly reveal the city on the other side. Cadiz…

"_Well you see, Tony, the Spanish thought Drake was a pirate, and so he was, but the Queen herself wanted him to do what he was doing… as long as it was only Spanish gold that he stole."_

"_Why, Mommy? If I were a pirate I'd attack everything!" The little boy jumped up and danced around the room, swinging an imaginary sword, before returning to his mother's side._

"_Well, yes, darling, but England and Spain were at war. They really didn't like each other at all, although the King of Spain wanted to marry the Queen of England. Her name was Elizabeth, like mine."_

"_Really? So, what happened?"_

"_Well, the Spanish were getting a great fleet of ships ready to attack England. They were waiting in the Bay of Cadiz, in southern Spain. In 1587- "_

"_That's four hundred years ago, Mom!"_

"_And it's never been forgotten," Tony's mother told him proudly, "Drake and his men attacked and burned so many of those ships that it put the invasion back by a year. It was said that El Draco singed the King of Spain's beard!"_

His mother had been animated and beautiful as she told him the story; happy to tell her small son some of his English heritage. (Tony imagined with what fire Alia, their cook, and his first Spanish teacher, would have told the other side of the story.) Elizabeth DiNozzo was the grand-niece of a belted Earl, which was something her son, the brash native New Yorker cop was never going to tell anyone. Her family came from Devon, not so far from where Drake himself had grown up, and before she began to get sick she often spoke of taking Tony there. Many times afterwards the solitary child, running through the wild parts of the grounds of the big house on Long Island, slashing at the undergrowth with the same imaginary sabre – El Draco, lopping enemy heads - would also imagine he was in his mother's childhood garden, and dream of going there.

She'd gone on to tell him how, the following year, Drake had dealt with the Armada itself as it came up the English channel, and the wide eyed boy had adopted Drake as one of his favourite heroes on the spot.

"_They made him __**Sir **__Francis Drake… that meant he was a knight, Tony. In the end, he died a long way from home, in a place called Panama. And do you know what he did?" _

_The boy shook his head, mesmerised by the wonderful tale his beautiful mother was telling him. "He had a drum, that they'd beat when they went into battle. When he knew he was going to die, he told them to take the drum back to England, and if the country was ever threatened by sea, to beat it, and he'd rise from his watery grave and come back to fight with them. There."_

When he was older, Tony had learned by heart the stirring poem by Henry Newbolt. _"Take my drum to England, hang et by the shore, Strike et when your powder's runnin' low, If the Dons sight Devon, I'll quit the port o' Heaven, and drum them up the channel as we drummed them long ago," _he quoted softly to himself. He'd promised himself that he'd go to Cadiz one day. Just like his dream of Devon, it had never happened. The memories made his heart ache unbearably.

The unexpected, sharp grieving for his mother was a consequence of the trip that he hadn't counted on, although with hindsight, perhaps he should have; other things didn't take him by surprise at all. He shouldn't have come here. He didn't want to, and he knew the Boss had read it on his face, quick as he was to hide it. Just another thing to irritate him.

"_Grab your gear. Bring a bag. We're going to Rota."_

_Rota? Of all the places in the world, why Rota? Why them? Why him?_

It was all such a long time ago…

He'd tried _not_ to find out who had taken the posting after he'd turned it down, but two years ago, when he'd heard that the post was vacant again, and knowing that he hadn't a prayer of being offered it this time, his heart had sunk when he'd heard that Moreton was assigned. He'd worked with the useless effort in the days when he and Gibbs were a two man team, and hoped never to again.

He'd been right; in the time he'd been in the post, Moreton had managed to not see the small but lucrative operation going on under his nose, (so of course it had grown and thrived,) or come up with any reason why a US sailor should be found shot dead aboard a drifting launch, with a couple of lobster pots in the well. Whatever had been in them it sure wasn't shellfish.

Tony reviewed the mental list that had been occupying his thoughts since they boarded the plane four days ago.

If he'd taken the posting when Jenny had offered four years ago, this mess wouldn't have happened. (Looking at Moreton's empty desk yesterday, the man himself having been packed off back to DC on the same transport as the arrestees, was when he'd first added that one, which seemed to have gone to the top of the list. Then he'd winced to see the ghost of himself sitting in that chair.)

If he'd taken the posting he'd never have loved – and lost – Jeanne… or killed Michael, so Ziva would never have ended up in Somalia. He'd never have caused her that torment, or experienced the pain of his doomed passion for her…

If he'd taken the posting who knows what sort of a knock on effect it might have had. Paula might not have taken the Pentagon job…

Jenny would have had other bodyguards, who'd have disobeyed orders when they thought something was wrong.

He wouldn't have had to conceal the knowledge that his Boss was prepared to let _his_ Boss hurt him and do nothing, and worse, let him get away with committing murder. Gibbs seemed to have taken it for granted that he'd keep that secret, and he had done, was _still_ doing; and if it ever came out, it'd be his career blown away, let alone Gibbs'.

He'd never have had to spend weeks washing away the bitter taste that his demotion and the heedlessness and barbs from his team left in his mouth. No reason why he should expect the world to pay attention to his feelings anyway. And he was over it. Come on, it was years ago.

_He wouldn't have been there when Gibbs reversed that car into the Potomac. _

The thought made him gasp. Gibbs had gone alone, and no-one else on the team, whoever his replacement might have been, would ever have known the Boss well enough to see he was up to something, and be there when he was needed. If he'd taken the posting, Gibbs would be dead. Go on, DiNozzo… try balancing that against all the other things. Jeanne, Michael, Ziva, Paula, Jenny, Franks, demotion – no, scrub that one, he didn't give a damn… or hadn't… a lot of deaths, a broken heart or three, all of those to save Gibbs' life.

He couldn't think about this; his head was in a mess, and his heart was beating so hard he found himself looking over at Cadiz again, seen more clearly now, so close and completely beyond his reach. He found himself thinking irrationally of Drake's Drum that his mother had told him about, beating out the doom of the ships in the harbour he was looking out across. He wished he hadn't come; his thoughts were pushing him in a direction he couldn't see and didn't want to go.

He stood up. Get a grip on yourself, Anthony… you can't expect anyone to sort this for you, the only solution's going to come from inside you. He shook his head. It was foolish to try and think of an equation that didn't actually exist; if Gibbs and Maddie had been strangers, he'd still have dived into the river after them; if Ziva had told him the truth about Michael, he'd most likely still have gone to the apartment to warn her… he could second guess himself until he went blue and stuck to the spot where he stood… this all boiled down to himself and Gibbs, a collection of secrets, and a friendship heading down the tubes.

He wondered why the Boss hadn't wandered round the container and found him, and concluded that the deep introversion hadn't lasted _outside_ his head as long as he thought it had. His phone shrilled; it was the logistics Major he'd spoken to earlier. He listened, thanked him, and disconnected.

As he hung a smile on his face, played a resounding rattle on that war drum of Drake's in his head and turned to go back to McGee, Gibbs, who must have heard the ringing of the phone, came round the corner of the container, the usual frown on his face.

"DiNozzo. Where –"

"Good news, Boss… or it might be. I dunno, you say. There's room for us on the Baby Herc. I asked the Major to try to swing it for us. We can go back with the evidence if you want to get back to DC right away. No waiting for a commercial flight."

"Of course I want to go back right away, DiNozzo, d'ya realise how long all this stuff's gonna take to process?"

He hadn't been expecting a 'good job', so there was no point in feeling disappointed when he didn't get one. Smile. "Sure do, Boss… I loaded it! Abby's going to be pretty pleased, don't you think? I don't believe she's ever had a submarine to play with before."

He was spared another surly reply by the sound of a large diesel engine revving down and the crunching of mighty gears. High up in the cab of the olive drab flatbed, Ziva sat smiling down on them from alongside the Navy driver, as he manoeuvred it round skilfully, in a space he shouldn't have been able to without pushing it into the bay, until it was alongside the container. As Tony waved up to the operator sitting patiently in his overhead crane, and he began to glide into position, she leapt lightly down.

"Tony! I stopped at the barracks and collected all our things, as you said. We can go straight to the airport." Tony opened his mouth to thank her and say 'good job', but Gibbs got there first. Tony managed not to even shrug inside himself. "Did the Major call you back? Can we really go back to DC now?"

"Sure we can! As soon –"

"We can go back to DC when I say we can, DiNozzo," Gibbs' bark cut him off.

Tony bit his lip and nodded. Hadn't the Boss just said – he upped the smile, and gestured with his phone. "Well, what shall I tell the Major, Boss?"

"Tell him we'll be on the plane, of course." There was a sharp metallic crunch as the lifts were attached to the corners of the container, and Gibbs swung away to watch the loading.

Tony looked at the ground for a moment, then looked up to see his two team-mates regarding him with curiosity and some concern. He put the smile back on again and shrugged. "I don't know," he said cheerfully. "It's like grass stains."

Ziva felt her leg being pulled. "Grass stains?" She went along with it.

Tim nodded wisely. "It'll all come out in the wash," he said.

Tony's smile never wavered. If only it would…

**AN: Gibbs won't be 2****nd**** 'b' for ever…**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: In case anyone actually wants to hear the song, I've (somewhat clumsily I'm afraid,) inserted clues into the story. I put the note values in American not British terminology, since that's what Tim would use.**

Drake's Drum

Chapter 2

The ride to the airport had been more or less silent; Gibbs had simply climbed up into the cab of the flatbed, without asking Ziva if she minded giving up her place. He'd handed her the keys to the agency sedan, said "Follow us and keep your eyes peeled," and walked off towards the truck.

Ziva looked uncertainly at Tony, expecting him to dive into the driver's seat and then demand the keys. He just smiled ruefully at her and shrugged. She found herself putting the keys in his hand. "You drive please, Tony; my eyes are rather tired."

He understood the gesture for what it was; keep yourself occupied and you'll have no time to brood; and accepted them. She was sometimes totally oblivious to how people _did_ feel, only knowing how they _ought_ to feel, so he was touched by the gesture. He managed to up the smile. "OK, Zi… thanks." They headed out after the truck, on the alert, only speaking to mention possible hazards, and the journey was without incident.

Ziva's gesture almost backfired on her at the airport; as Gibbs observed who was driving. "Ziva – I gave you the keys! Did you let DiNozzo take them?"

Tony was there to defend her in a furious instant, and who knew where the glaring confrontation would have led if she hadn't answered quickly. She kept her voice level, and without either accusation or confrontation; it seemed there was a fire somewhere, and she wasn't going to fan it.

"No, Gibbs, he did not. I did not wish to drive, since my eyes are aching, and I asked him to. I did not realise that I was being ordered to do it myself."

The Boss realised there wasn't anything he could say without sounding rather petty; he shrugged and went back to the unloading of the truck. The driver was lifting their baggage from the back of the cab; they went to reclaim it, (Tony stunned Tim by shooing him off, injured arm and all, and taking his bag for him,) and twenty minutes later they were airborne.

The Baby Herc's official designation was C27J Spartan; the seating was just that, but it was a step up from the webbing slings they'd had to use for long flights in the past. It was too noisy for conversation; this particular aircraft had never been rigged for hospital use and had no soundproofing. Their container sat with other cargo, they sat with it looming over them, and tried to sleep. Gibbs, as usual, had no problem; after a while Ziva, who wasn't exaggerating about her sore eyes, having spent large parts of her four days bent over piles of data, rested them, and in the end succumbed.

Tim sat watching Tony through half closed eyes. The SFA was trying to give the impression of being relaxed; but every so often, his hands would begin a rhythmic pattern on his knees, over and over. 1-2-3-**4**-a, three quarter notes, a dotted eighth and a sixteenth. (The first four notes of Darth Vader's theme, McGee thought surreally, aargh, that's Tony's thing, _not_ mine.) Sometimes it would be followed by what looked like a drum-roll with his finger tips. It would stop for a while, while Tony dozed, and then begin again. Tim sat and worried, and only let himself fall asleep when he was sure Tony had done so.

There was no let-up, of course; they all knew the routine. Everything needed to be written up before they could go home, unpack, and go into whatever routine they each preferred for relaxing. Night was beginning to fall, and taking into account the time zone difference, the refuelling stop and inadequate sleep as human freight, it was small wonder they were all dead on their feet by the time reports were handed in. Gibbs had finished and waved Ziva and Tim off. They were packing up, and both looked across at Tony, who was still typing. Gibbs stopped alongside his desk and raised an eyebrow in question.

"Writing a letter of thanks for her co-operation to Senora Dragon, Boss. Whoever's sent to Rota this time'll still have to deal with her, no point in making their job more difficult." Something flashed across Gibbs' face and his scowl deepened, but he didn't speak. "And Major Bentley needs paperwork to cover for, and thanks for lending us his Spartan. I'll leave when I'm done."

Gibbs grunted and went on his way; Tony lowered his eyes to his screen again, not wishing to see the expressions of his team mates, whatever they were. Tim's voice addressed the top of his head.

"Tony…" He gave in and looked up. "I could have done the letter to the Major and signed it with your name. Still can if you like."

"I know, McLiterate… I might have asked but – no, never mind. I'll be done in a minute. Get gone, both of you, it's been a long four days."

"Are you sure –"

"Yes. Go. Sleep."

NCISNCISNCIS

Sleep… Tim hardly caught a wink. The 'no, never mind' jangled in his head; he knew very well that Tony had been going to say 'Gibbs would have told me to do it myself'. He still wouldn't say a word against the Boss, Tim mused, and found a strange little warm realisation in the restless, chilly night – no matter how the SFA might tease and prank inside the team, and he was actually missing that just lately, he knew that he, and Ziva, could count on the same loyalty from Tony. Still, something was very wrong, wrong enough to have the integrity of the team balanced on a knife edge, and he couldn't see any reason why it had got to this stage. His wounded arm throbbed; he swung out of bed, made a mug of coffee, sat down in his writing chair and went into McGregor mode.

Possibilities:-

One: Tony knew how he'd upset Gibbs and wasn't telling.

Two: Tony had upset Gibbs but hadn't a clue how.

Three: Something else had upset Gibbs and Tony was the punchbag. Tony knew what that was but still wasn't telling.

Four: Something else had upset Gibbs and Tony didn't know what it was.

It had begun before the grey trip to Rota, he thought he had an idea of when; but it had got so much worse during the last four days, and McGregor couldn't think of any reason why that should be – they hadn't known they were going to Rota until half an hour before they left. That didn't mean much – McGregor didn't have enough information to be certain there was no link – he'd have to get some.

Back to the possibilities; he reckoned he could scratch the first one. If Tony knew how he'd upset Gibbs, he might not tell anyone, but he'd do something about it. And if the breach really were unbridgeable, he'd transfer, or Gibbs would transfer him. It hadn't happened, and it surely would have by now, although the young agent's stomach lurched at the thought that it still could.

Option three didn't seem likely either; for the same sort of reason. Tony would have done something before now, and what was more, unless the truth was so awful that he _couldn't_ share it, which Tim, as well as McGregor, couldn't believe, he'd have mobilised the rest of the team to help the Boss.

Option two or option four… if there was an option five he had no idea what it could be, so he struck it off his mental list. Deal with it when you get to it, McGee… it was all down to this horrible not knowing. Why wouldn't Gibbs tell? Had Tony asked? Tim kicked McGregor into touch, and took his mug back to his bedroom. He sat heavily on the edge of his bed, and sighed. This was about him, not his alter-ego, and the team he loved. Yes, that's right, McGee, loved. All of them.

His mug empty, he lay back on his bed with a weary huff, and thought that if Tony would do something about a bad situation, then so should he, before Tony could do the _wrong _thing, like quitting. What? Not a clue. But he'd start with what he knew best. Computers. He dozed for a while longer, and at half past five he got showered, fed and dressed, and headed for the Navy Yard.

As he came up in the elevator, he thought he could hear music. Not Abby's sort, reverberating up the shaft in the morning stillness, although he wouldn't have put it past her to be in her lab at this hour. Classical? Operatic? Coming from his floor? He stiffened as the door hissed open; the voice had stopped but the orchestra went on, and it was that rhythm; dum – dum – dum – **dah-**da – the one Tony's hands had been playing incessantly on the flight. The SFA was at his desk, hand propped on his chin, idly watching his computer screen.

He was aware at once of Tim's presence, and reached for his mouse to stop the music, but the younger agent shook his head. "No, don't. It's good, whatever it is."

Tony shrugged, but not unkindly, and turned his screen so that Tim could see. It was youtube, and the picture on the screen was of two men in plain Tudor clothes, sitting at a table in… well, their attitude said tavern, as did the leather drinking bottles on the table. Tony let the rousing song play out to its end, and only then left the site. He half expected a comment on his taste in music, but McGee surprised him.

"That's the tune that was going through your head on the plane. And the drumroll – you were playing Drake's Drum."

"How did – oh, I guess you weren't asleep when I thought you were, McSmarty. I… I kept trying to stop, you know how it is when something gets on your brain." He laughed, a slight, brittle, embarrassed sound. "You know the story? My mother told it me when I was a kid. I used to play pirates and pretend I was Drake. Childhood hero. Promised myself I'd go to Cadiz one day. Never did. And there we were, just seven miles away. Sort of took me back, you know?"

"But you still never got there."

Tony looked at his hands, palms up on his desk. The tone of Tim's comment said far more than the words. _I know there's more going on than that, Tony, and I'm here. Come on. _

He said, obliquely, "You knew there was something up, and you came in early. To do something? To talk to Abby? Me, if you suspected I didn't go home last night?"

"Which you didn't." Tim sniffed. "You've showered, and shaved, and changed your clothes, but apart from that I'd say you haven't moved from that desk all night. I wasn't expecting to find you here, but I'm not surprised." He paused, and decided that a little more honesty might make Tony open up – if it didn't do the opposite.

"I came in to poke around in our last few cases; maybe talk to Abby… "

"Poke around? What for?"

"I don't know, you tell me," he said earnestly. "What's wrong, Tony? What's going on? And don't even think about putting me off, dammit, I don't get up at half past five for just anybody!" Tony blinked at him, and there was the ghost of a smile for a moment. "If it were me going through this, whatever this is, _you'd_ be down here doing something – just give me a clue what!"

The senior agent rubbed his hands over his face, and a tired, grateful smile emerged. He didn't know whether or not to be surprised that McGee realised that, given the way he teased, but he thought of how the younger man stood up to him these days, and how he'd stood up to Gibbs yesterday. "OK…" he said slowly, some of the tension leaving him, as he gave in and accepted the help. "I think you just gave yourself one. Why did you say 'our last few cases'?"

Tim frowned, and went for honesty again – he did it every time; couldn't lie to save his life. Maybe to save a team member… but not now. "It's been going on for a while. The Rota trip only made it worse. I wondered if the answer was in a case somewhere." He thought a flicker of alarm crossed Tony's face, but he wasn't sure, and it disappeared instantly, so he went on. "Tony, I know you haze, I've not forgotten Claire – although I did get you back for that – and I'm sick of the sight of superglue, even though it helped me to grow a backbone –"

"Nah… it didn't." It was Tim's turn to blink, then… "You always had one. You just needed to find out you could use it."

"Oh…" There was no answer to that, but in that moment, Tim thought he cared more for his dreadful 'big brother' than he'd ever done before. He had to do something. "Look, in all the time I've known you you've never done anything to bring me down, or shame me, or diminish me, either in my own eyes or anyone else's. I can't believe what Gibbs is doing to you just now."

Tony sat still, and didn't interrupt.

"He's been different… ever since the Reynosa business. Abby went to Mexico, and things were seriously weird when she came back. All those long, pregnant looks exchanged with Gibbs, and the rest of us left on the outside. Gibbs was more distant with the rest of us after his father was threatened; and you did a lot of that deflecting thing you do because he was moodier. I put it down to his worrying about Jackson. I never really understood why Paloma went after him in the first place."

"I… he's never said anything," Tony said quietly, and as he looked at his knees the younger agent knew there was more to it than that.

"But you have your suspicions."

"If Gibbs has something on his mind, and chooses not to tell us, how can I speculate, McGee? It's not my secret!"

"OK… but you reckon there is a secret. And you suspect that you know what it is."

"Yeah," the senior agent agreed heavily. "And I don't see why he keeps it from us. Abby knows. Vance knows. Why not us?"

"Mmm… Maybe he doesn't trust us… but you're the only one he's taking it out on. Why? And why did going to Rota make it worse?"

"I don't know –" Tony broke off, and a look that could only be described as panic crossed his face. He put his elbow on his desk, and leaned his forehead into his hand.

"Tony, what?"

"I can't tell you, McGee."

"You've remembered something. Why won't you tell me?"

"Not won't, Tim, _can't_."

He should have seen this coming. Secrets… he should have anticipated… but he hadn't thought about it for years. He saw himself leaning over Tim's desk and asking him, in a challenging tone that was just begging a smart answer, if he thought he didn't rate his own team… and the younger man's devastating answer. _'Wouldn't be here now if_ _you did, would you DiNozzo'…_ It hadn't mattered for a long time, for a lot of reasons; and if there was one thing he didn't want to bring up while Tim was here, at six-thirty am, trying to help, it was that whole wretched time. It was over. He was over it.

McGee sat himself down on the edge of Tony's desk, folded his arms and shook his head. "Oh, no, you don't. This is the guy who came to Somalia with you, remember? You can't possibly complain about Gibbs keeping secrets from you, and go right on and keep them from me."

"OK, if I admit you're right on that… What if you don't like the truth when you hear it?"

"I need to hear it before I can answer that. How bad can it be? And if you want another cliché, I'm a big boy… I can take it."

Tony pushed his chair back a bit, and swung to face his friend, who looked at the pain on his face and was opening his mouth again to say 'Look, forget it', when the SFA spoke first. "You're getting too damn good at this. OK. Somehow, Gibbs has found out that I turned down a promotion, and never told him."

Tim was too smart to say 'What promotion' – he was silent for no more than a second before he said "Rota." He paused. "You were offered it before Moreton, and said no. Moreton came and made a pig's ear of it." He frowned. "Tony? What –"

"It wasn't then," Tony said very quietly. "Look, he found out – can't we leave it at that?"

Tim was definitely too smart; he may not have been the best on the team at connecting random dots, but he could follow a trail like a bloodhound. So if not then, it had to be before… when was most likely? _Oh_.

"It was when you'd been team leader, then. When Gibbs came back." He went white, and wished, for all his bravado, that he'd never started this. He'd wanted to help, and instead he'd opened some very old wounds. "Oh God… I told you that you weren't good enough for your own team… Tony… you – you didn't turn it down because of what I said, did you? Because –"

"Hey! No, I didn't. It's all a long time ago, and I'd forgotten about how it was when Gibbs came back –"

"Forgotten?"

"All right, put it behind me. It wasn't the best of times for me… no, for all of us… the Paulson case… The Boss marched back in, made fun of how I was handling things, took over what had been my team… Don't look like that, Tim, you asked. I got over it; it's what I do."

"But Tony, I said –"

"You were lashing out, because I kept calling you Probie. I asked for it, right? I was so wrapped up in my own misery at being swept aside by a boss who didn't really remember me –" his face twisted at the memory – "That bloody hurt, I'll tell you… There was so much going on - I didn't spend too much time thinking that you'd been demoted too. I wasn't the only one unceremoniously bumped."

"But I didn't mind! I wasn't really ready then to be a Senior Field Agent… and anyway, I was just so damn glad to have Gibbs back –" He stopped, aghast at how firmly he'd just shoved his foot into his mouth. "Oh, no… oh hell, Tony, that's not what I meant… I'm sorry… I didn't mean that you weren't… that you were…"

Tony stood up with a soft, unhappy sigh , and put one reassuring hand up to squeeze the younger man's shoulder.

"Y'see now, Tim, exactly why I _didn't_ want us to have this conversation?"

**AN: I hope that's a good place to leave it; more of Gibbs next time. One curious thing; I had an absolutely amazing 77 story alerts on the last chapter; they kept pouring in. Thank you very much… Not that I'm begging or anything, but I would love to hear from some of you!**


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: To the people who reviewed and weren't logged in, thank you very much for your kind words anyway.**

Drake's Drum

Chapter 3

McGee nodded dumbly, in a state to refuse any comfort. "But I said you weren't Gibbs… I –"

"No," Tony said patiently. "That was everyone else."

That did the trick; Tim's chin shot up in defence of the girls. "Tony, they didn't mean it –"

"They didn't mean it the way I took it." They did, but he wasn't going to beat McGee up about it. He was _over _it. "I get that. Now, can we forget the whole thing? Look…" his hand dropped from his friend's shoulder. "Listen… Don't go on a guilt trip over this. Yeah, I felt bad at the time. Yeah, going to Rota kind of brought things back. But you can't seriously be thinking poor Tony here… like I said, there were so many things going on. The Ziva thing; Ducky was angry…"

"Everything went back to what it was; except that it didn't."

"No. You'd been a SFA, and I'd been a Boss, and suddenly I was calling you Probie again…"

"Gibbs tore me off a strip about it; he said Franks still calls him Probie."

"He _heard_ that conversation?" Tim nodded, and Tony's face twisted. "I might have known. He never said a thing to me."

"What, about tearing me one?"

"No… wouldn't have wanted him to do that. It'd be like telling tales. But he… I could have done with a word from him right then… he never said anything to me about being good enough… or not… guess he thought I wasn't."

"_Tony_…I am _so_ wishing I'd never started this… everything's the opposite of what I tried to do."

Tony shook his head. "No, it isn't. You're _here_, aren't you? Look, McOverguilty, maybe this'll convince you… the hazing… yes, it's been a defence thing since I was a kid, you should hear the things I said to my Dad's pompous dinner guests, inside my head of course; yes, it's how we were in the frat house all the time, it'd the only way we knew how to treat each other; and yes, I started doing it to you with the intention of hardening you off a bit… but I tease – you – and Ziva, because I _like_ it. Because it's fun. And I like it when you fight back – it becomes a battle of wits. I've never said I was a nice guy, McGee – so don't see me as a victim here. Get mad at me; you'll soon forget that night."

"Get mad at you? OK." Tim's voice took on the tone of obeying instructions to the letter. "What about?"

"Well, not right now, McGee –" He realised he'd been suckered, and burst out laughing. Tim joined in, and Tony clapped him on the shoulder again. His face went serious, stern, even, and he wagged his finger. "So you forget about it, right? It's done. You forget it."

Abby rode the elevator up from her lab, then stopped, horrified, in the doorway. She hadn't expected anyone to be here so early. She'd had a fascinating night playing with a mini-submarine, and knowing how conscientious Gibbs was at reading his emails, she'd brought an interim written report to leave on his desk – and now she'd walked in on a confrontation. Tony had her Timmy by the shoulder, and was waving a hand under his nose, telling him to 'forget it' about something. Tim, his back to her, was lifting his hands defensively, and agreeing, "OK, OK!"

Abby didn't hesitate. She stormed across the room, erupting. "Tony! What d'you think you're doing, Mister? Leave Tim alone! Just because you're Senior Field Agent doesn't mean you can bully him!" Tim began to turn towards her, and she realised he had a grin on his face, just as she yelled, "You're not Gibbs!"

Tim winced. Tony's shoulders dropped, so did his head, and his whole body twisted away from her so she couldn't see his face as he sat down. When he looked up again, he was smiling. "Hey, Abbs… did you like the present we brought you back from Spain?"

Abby looked confused. "Tony…why were you shouting at Tim? And Timmy, why were you smiling about it? And what are you both doing here so early in the morning, because Gibbs always gets in before anyone else, and what's Tim supposed to forget, and why are you looking at me like that?"

Tony looked at his fellow agent with an expression that was practically pleading, and Tim said consideringly, "Well… Abby… Tony wasn't shouting; there's no-one else in the place so we don't have to raise our voices. I was grinning because Tony was being so serious. We're early because we have a lot of things we need to discuss, I've forgotten what I was supposed to forget, and we're looking at you like that because you managed to ask five questions in one breath. We're amazed at your skill."

"McGee! You're teasing me!"

"Abby, Tony wasn't having a go at me. We were talking about the Rota trip and some points it brought up. Have you been here all night looking at the sub?"

"How did you know?"

The two men grinned.

"Orange –" Tony said.

"Coverall." Tim agreed.

"Har. It's still very early for you to be having discussions – unless you don't want anyone else to hear them." She put her sheet of notes on Gibbs' desk and turned back to them. "Who are you keeping secrets from? Gibbs or Ziva?"

"I do not believe they are keeping them from me, Abby," Ziva said, emerging from the elevator. She looked from one man to the other. "Well, I thought we had things to talk about, and you have beaten me to it, McGee." She wrinkled her nose, as Tim had done. "You have been here all night, Tony!"

"I don't smell that bad!"

"You took Thierry Mugler to Spain, but now you are wearing Herrera, and it is fresh. You have just had a shower."

The SFA pulled a wry face. "It's a fair cop. So, Ziva, what urgent things do we have to talk about?"

"I have come to help," Ziva said as if it were perfectly obvious. "I called you last night, and got no reply, and I did not think you had enough energy left to be drowning your sorrows in a bar somewhere. I thought it likely that you stayed here." She sighed, and laid her hand on Abby's arm. "Abby, you care about Gibbs very much. You need to know that you must not speak of this to him unless we all agree that we should, or, you need to go back down to your submarine and pretend you know nothing of this."

"Of what, Ziva? Drowning what sorrows? What's wrong with Bossman?"

"Have you truly not noticed his distance from us? Or the alarming way he has been treating Tony?"

"Ziva, Gibbs would never be distant! And he'd never, never treat Tony badly! He's Gibbs! He loves us all, he goes Poppa Bear for us –"

Ziva said, as gently as she could, "Maybe you do not see it, because you are usually down in your lab. But we have noticed a difference lately – we are not imagining it."

"No… no –" Abby held up both hands. "Gibbs loves us. He wouldn't hurt any of us. What are you doing? I'm not listening to this… I'm going back to my submarine, like you said –"

"Abby!"

NCISNCISNCIS

_Enough_, Gibbs thought as he drove, _you've let it go on long enough, you know it, and nobody can put a stop to it but you. Abby's never going to tell a soul, neither's Vance, you either tell DiNozzo, or you shut up for ever, and damn well live with it, and stop taking your own guilt out on him. If he thinks less of you, so be it._

Even now, with years of hindsight, he had no regrets about the deed, but it was a terrible secret to ask anyone to share. Vance had regarded it, as he had, as the execution of a murderer, the removal of a cancer; his anger had been for the trouble it had caused NCIS, and the difficulty of cleaning it up. Abby, however, was another thing. She didn't see life in shades of grey… He never asked her outright, but he knew that she had been close to telling the truth. Her idol had feet of clay – however much she loved him, her forensics said he had committed murder, and so he had, no matter how he dressed it.

He was afraid of telling Tony. He didn't want another person he cared about to see him diminished…

_You're a self-indulgent old bastard; you don't bother to control your bad temper; just go on expecting him to suck it up, and deflecting it from the rest of the team… dammit, you were __**pleased**__ when you found out he'd got a secret of his own – meant you had a reason to be mad at him, 'stead of just being mad anyhows. Like you shouldn't have figured it out a long time ago._

He shifted down a gear hard; he ought to have been ashamed of himself.

"_Moreton's seriously screwed things up, Jethro. He's being recalled – I'm not sure if he's a criminal or just criminally stupid. I need you to take your team out to Rota and sort the mess out. Starting with who killed Seaman Freeman." Vance laughed grimly. "Don't know what DiNozzo'll think when he sees what he's missed. It pains me to admit, but none of this would have happened if he'd been there."_

He'd grunted something non-committal, and hoped his face hadn't revealed his shock. Vance had offered Tony the posting before Moreton, and he'd turned it down. No… Vance wouldn't have offered; he didn't like the man, at least, he hadn't two years ago…and he knew he'd be up against Gibbs if he did. The hell – had he been dropping hints that he'd offer Tony the position now it was vacant again?

It had been Jenny… he recalled the SFA accidentally letting it out that he was on first name terms with her, and he remembered her telling him what a good job Tony had done in his absence. As usual at the time, he'd only half listened; he'd only half a memory anyway then, and couldn't even figure out how the guy had got on his team, let alone become his second in command. The man he'd written off as a doofus at the time had given up his own team, hindered his own future career, to stay with _him_ at a time when he hadn't even realised how badly off he'd be without him… Enough. It was stupid to be angry that he'd never been told, he ought to be thankful.

But if he'd _been_ told, he'd have worked through the guilt by now instead of having it dumped on him. So it was fine to have his own secrets and not worry about confessing them to DiNozzo. He'd felt, _really_ felt, the lash of his SFA's anger a few times, and he could take that; but now he imagined seeing censure – hell, contempt even – in the perceptive green eyes, and while his soul shrivelled a little more, his anger flared – but not at himself.

What could DiNozzo know of it? How dare he judge him? _He hasn't, Jethro_. No, well he's not going to get the damn chance.

The guard at the gate lifted the barrier as he saw the familiar Daytona Yellow car approaching, and he swung in with a sketchy wave of acknowledgement. His eyebrows lifted in surprise as he saw that in an otherwise empty parking lot DiNozzo's, McGee's and Ziva's cars stood in a line, with Abby's hot-rod one slot away, leaving his usual space for him. He frowned as he got out of the Challenger, and stood looking at them, unease stirring in his gut.

Disquiet was followed by another rush of anger; he didn't believe in coincidence. Why had they agreed to such an early start – what were they saying behind his back that they couldn't say to his face? This would be DiNozzo's doing; those damn campfires he used to be so fond of… had he organised one without _him_? To whine about him? Did he really think he could do that and not be found out? What were the rest of them thinking about, going along with it? They were his team, not DiNozzo's…

In the back of his mind a tiny voice was saying, _'you're not thinking straight… this is what stressing over your Dad for four months does, having no-one to talk to about it; this is guilt talking…'_ and he might have listened, but he was taking the stairs so they wouldn't hear the elevator, and it made his knee hurt, and as he emerged from the stairwell he heard Abby's voice, high and thin with indignation.

"…_What are you doing? I'm not listening to this… I'm going back to my submarine, like you said –"_

"_Abby!"_

Gibbs strode forwards as he said her name, ready to rescue her. "What the hell are you doing, DiNozzo?" His voice was a low, enraged growl. "You've got these two doing your thing, whatever it is, and now you're trying to bully Abby into getting involved? You want to tell me what you're up to? Behind my back? With _my_ team?"

He leaned threateningly over Tony, who rose to his feet slowly, and spoke softly, his face stiff.

"McGee, Ziva… why don't you go with Abby down to the evidence garage, so she can show you what she's been doing with the sub all night?" For a long moment, nobody spoke, then Tim put his arm round Abby's shoulders and began to turn her away. He mouth was a dark, round O of shock.

As they left, Ziva said over her shoulder, "Gibbs, the only one who has spoken to Abby since she came up to the bull pen is myself. I shall be happy, when I return, to tell you what I said. Tony has not said one word." She disappeared into the elevator.

Gibbs turned back to Tony, taking a disbelieving breath to begin venting his fury, but Tony started first, low and intense.

"Do you want me to go? Are you trying to make it so unpleasant for me that I'll request a transfer? Is that it? It won't work. I made up my mind in Peoria a long time ago that I wouldn't be forced out through the back door – if you want me off the team, you tell me to my face, and explain why. Don't try to put the decision on me, so you can go round saying, 'Oh, DiNozzo quit'. Because I won't. What would you do if I did, huh? If I wasn't around to take your bad temper? Would you start on the others once I wasn't around to protect them? Cuz they wouldn't take half of what I do before they'd spit in your eye and go!"

"You saying you protect them from me, DiNozzo?"

Tony's smouldering glare hit him between the eyes. "You saying I _don't_?"

Gibbs couldn't answer that one without agreeing with his SFA, which he wasn't about to do. He looked at Tony and suddenly realised that the younger man was beyond angry, although he was holding his distance and not getting in Gibbs' face, waiting for an answer. He reacted with matching anger himself, even though that awkward little voice inside was still saying _'don't do this'_…

"I don't know what you're doing, Dinozzo, but if you've got a grouse with me, you tell me, you don't hold a meeting with the rest of the team. And you've no damn right to involve Abby –"

"You don't know what I'm doing? Behind your back? _Not a damn thing!_ Abby came up to leave her notes on your desk. She wasn't expecting to find anyone here. I've been here all night. Couldn't seem to go home. The others, well, they independently decided the same thing – that I must be here and I might like someone to talk to. Just like good team-mates would. And if you want me to tell you about a grouse, why not pull up a chair and sit down, cuz we'll be here a while!"

"I'll stand."

Tony shrugged. "Then so will I." But he took care not to close the distance between them. If Gibbs wanted to choke the daylights out of him, he'd have to come over here to do it. "Shall I start? You've been on my case since the Mexico thing – since Abby met Mr. Oily Aly-handro Rivera. I could live with it, not the first time. But since you walked in here and said we were going to Rota, you can't stand the sight of me. And since I'm not good at mind-reading, and guess-work just hasn't been doing it for me either, you want to tell me why that is?"

Gibbs hesitated. He didn't want to go anywhere near the subject of secrets. There wasn't a plot; his anger was beginning to dissipate, but oh boy, Tony's wasn't.

"You're exaggerating."

Tony leaned on his desk, stiff armed, head down, then he looked up again. His eyes were mad. "Like hell I am."

No avoiding it then. Damn it if he wasn't going to force him where he didn't want to go. Well, what was the alternative? Tell him to shut up, and recommend him for immediate transfer? DiNozzo? "All right then… you want to explain to me why I had to find out from the Director that you turned down team lead at Rota? You couldn't be bothered to tell me yourself?"

"When d'you suggest I should have told you?"

"Well –"

"You couldn't even remember my name… Davenport himself walked in one day and you didn't know who he was. So I called him 'Mr. Secretary of the Navy' to remind you, and got looked up and down as if I was being a smartass. I'm pretty sure you wouldn't have had a freakin' clue where Rota even was… So I'm supposed to say, 'Oh, Boss, I've been offered my own team on the other side of the Atlantic. But don't you worry, I'm staying here to look after you!' Sure. And the longer it went on, the less it seemed as if anyone would give a damn anyway."

He shook his head miserably. "You overheard Tim and me talking that night. I only just found that out. He didn't think I merited my own team. Now he's feeling guilty, even though I've told him there's no need. You spoke to him, but you never said anything to me… you think you'd have been ready to listen if I'd talked to you? You think I'd have wanted to hear you agreeing with him? And d'you know what's worse now? I've seen the set-up there, and I _would_ have done a damn good job. For the first time since I told Jenny I wouldn't go, I'm wondering if I made the _wrong_ decision. That good enough for you, Boss?"

**AN: I've re-written this three times, still not sure about Gibbs' voice. Can't face a fourth time, if it won't make it any better. Dear, dear, the old girl's feeling insecure tonight…**


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Once again, thanks to all the people who reviewed and weren't signed in. Thanks too, to all the people who've sent lovely PMs.**

Drake's Drum

Chapter 4

His palms were already against the glass, and he leaned his forehead against it as well. _'You couldn't even remember my name…'_ He'd come from behind his desk, stridden past his Boss and to the long window overlooking the Anacostia. The lights that had made the water black and gold in the night were winking out, a few at a time, and leaving grey. Grey like Rota… yesterday he'd been by grey water grieving for his mother, his heart crashing like Drake's Drum; here he was again, the sound of the same drum loud in his ears, an iron band round his chest, and maybe…grieving for the father he'd thought he'd had.

He didn't want to do this. He didn't want to say the things he needed to say, because no matter what he still loved Gibbs like he imagined a son would; and he sure didn't want to hear the answers; but the alternative was to run, and once he started he'd go and go, with no idea where he'd end up. It wouldn't be back here.

Gibbs said from behind him, "You could have talked to me."

He didn't dare turn round, at least until he had his breathing under control. "No, I couldn't. I've already explained why."

"A team shouldn't have secrets, DiNozzo."

Tony turned so fast that Gibbs took a step back. "Bullshit, Gibbs! Are you hearing yourself here? What you mean is, I shouldn't have secrets from you! You can have as many as you like, your whole way of dealing's one big secret – but I'm not allowed the same privilege! I didn't tell you for your own sake… what's _your_ excuse?"

"What d'you mean… as many as I like?" Gibbs asked belligerently.

Tony glanced up at the security camera; it didn't record sound, but he wouldn't put it past Abby to lip-read… Gibbs caught the look and trailed uncertainly after him as he stalked around the staircase to the secluded corner that everyone knew the camera couldn't reach.

"Where shall I start? How about Maddie? If I'd taken the Spanish posting, you'd be dead right now, and so would she. McGee's getting better every day… but he trusts you –"

"And you don't?"

"To have my six, for as long as you want to, yes. I'm in a big black hole as far as the rest of it's concerned. Back on track here… Tim. Would he have figured out what you were up to in time? Since you weren't telling anyone? Keeping that little secret was nearly the death of you – and Maddie, even with me around! Could he have done what I did? Hell, I don't even know how _I_ did it… maybe I didn't, since nobody ever said a word about it… "

A cold finger poked Gibbs in the gut. He'd always assumed someone had said 'good job', but it was true, _he_ hadn't. "Tony… I –"

"Never mind. You didn't want to talk about who Maddie was. I understand. I got over that. Or I thought I did, like I thought I was over Rota. _So _childish to hold on to resentment for so long, isn't it? Pointless. Bad for the soul." God, how he wished the drumbeat in his chest would stop. It _hurt_. "OK, next. Mike Franks. You protect your team, right? I didn't see you raising a murmur when he brained me –"

Gibbs didn't deny what Tony had always known. "I came to see you were OK –"

"And let me go on about Russian terrorist teams… when you knew damn well who'd done it. You must have thought that was funny… I trusted him because he was your friend. Turned my back – off my guard. Very stupid. Would have been nice if you'd blacked his eye for me or something… But hey, that's not important." His voice sank to almost a whisper. "What is important is that you let him commit murder, and get away with it."

"How the hell d'you know about that?"

Tony's expression was wild. "Because I'm not stupid. Because I can tell the difference between the sound of a Sig, a Colt, and some Russian thing, and I remember the sequence of the shots. Because I saw Franks walking away, and he may have had his back to me, but oh, that cocky swagger spoke volumes. And because you never explained to me what happened. You never tried to blag me about self defence, because, all credit where it's due, you didn't want to lie."

"I didn't want you to know, Tony! I couldn't let you know I'd let him do that!"

"Ah, but I did know, and I've carried the knowledge ever since. It'd be a career ender, for both of us, Boss…"

"That's why I said nothing! I'd never take you down with me…"

"I understand that at least... and I know it's well buried – just would have been nice to be trusted."

"Dammit, Tony – it had nothing to do with trust… it had to do with me looking out for you… _you _could have told _me _you knew!"

"Yeah… guess I could. 'Boss, you let your former boss, who you respect, murder someone. OK, the guy was a cockroach, but he still gunned him down.' The person to do the telling was you."

"And if I told you, would you have told the rest of the team?"

"No… I'd have told you to. A team shouldn't have secrets, huh, Boss?" Tony's face twisted. "We can never protect each other if we don't know what we're protecting from! And if you say Jeanne, I'll say Domino."

He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes, chewing his bottom lip. This still hadn't got him where he needed to go. He felt as if his anger was running down, but in its wake came a wave of the most gut-wrenching fear. A mighty roll from that damn' drum. This had to be done; things had to be out in the open for the team's sake; for Gibbs' sake if he did but know it, for his own sake – but the most likely outcome he could see was the one he'd thought Gibbs was trying to provoke – and the Boss still hadn't answered that question. Did he want him gone? Because if he couldn't make this right, for everyone, there'd be no other way. He'd be off the team. He'd lose Gibbs, his 'family', his anchor and stability; everything that mattered to him. Everything.

Gibbs watched him for a moment, and said quietly, gently even, "So… you've let it all out. Yes, I've been far too hard on you. If I say no more secrets, and I get off your case about Rota, will that do it for you? Can we get back?"

His SFA looked at him for what seemed like an eternity; and Gibbs thought he could read what was swimming about in the anguished eyes. Tony wanted to say yes. To take the easy way. The lie. He hovered on the brink of it, desperate to take the plunge, and Gibbs might have willed him to. _'Leave the rest… It's best left alone,'_ he wanted to touch his arm, to say it aloud, but knew he couldn't. When it came to the crunch, he couldn't wish for Tony to be anything less than the man he was.

The green eyes blinked slowly, and the words were dragged out of the unwilling mouth. "What about _before _Rota, Boss?"

NCISNCISNCIS

"We should go back up there," Abby said for the tenth time, as they left the garage and headed back to the lab. "They could be killing each other…"

"No, they're not, and no we shouldn't," Tim told her yet again. "You have to let them figure this out, Abby."

"But figure out what? Why's Tony so mad at Gibbs?"

Ziva said steadily, "Abby, if you have just witnessed the same scene that we have, you must surely have seen it was the other way round? It was Gibbs who was mad at Tony. Tony was… restrained."

"Well, why? What's Tony done? What sorrows is he supposed to be drowning?" They had reached the lab by now, and Abby headed straight for one of her computers and began to rattle the keys.

"No, Abby," Tim said firmly, reading her intent without difficulty, and taking both her hands off the keyboard. She looked at him in astonishment, but he didn't back down. "You're not going to watch them, you're not going to lip-read. Somehow, I don't think you'll get the chance anyway. They know the camera's there, and all the spots it doesn't cover."

Abby pulled a face, and opened her mouth to protest, but Tim swivelled her chair away from the desk. "You need to know something," he said quietly. "You too, Ziva."

Ziva didn't object, but hitched a chair over to them, and sat waiting.

"I found out why Gibbs was on Tony's case in Rota," Tim began, "Or at least why Tony thinks it was."

"It began before then, McGee," Ziva said thoughtfully. "But I will agree that the last few days have been worse. What does Tony think?"

"He's certain Gibbs has found out he kept a secret from him." Abby hitched a breath in, and Tim wondered for a moment about the strong reaction, but there wasn't time to think about it; he filed it away for future attention, as Ziva said sadly, "Gibbs would not have liked that. Did he tell you what the secret was?"

"Oh, yeah… He reckons Gibbs knows that he turned down the team leadership in Rota when he was offered it."

"He did not tell us either," Ziva said. "He must have let something slip to Gibbs when he saw what a mess Moreton had made."

Tim shook his head. "I assumed at first that it must have been then; that Moreton took it when Tony turned it down. But it wasn't… it was when Gibbs came back from his 'retirement'. Tony was offered his own team – Rota – after he'd run MCRT for four months. He could have gone then –"

"But if he'd done that, what would Gibbs have done without him? When he'd been hurt and his memory wasn't so good – how could Tony –"

"_Abby_!" McGee's voice rose sharply enough to make her twitch. "Haven't you noticed? He's still _here_. He took a demotion, and all the sniping to his face and talking behind his back that went with it, rather than leave."

Alarm and a glimmer of understanding crossed the lab queen's face as she thought about it, and she didn't say anything else.

Ziva sighed. "It did not occur to me until a long time later, that Gibbs would not have had a team to return to but for Tony. I think sometimes we… rubbed his face in it."

"Nose, Ziva. His nose. I remembered things I'd said, tried to apologise; he told me not to worry – he was over it and I'd been demoted too…"

"And what?" Ziva asked, picking up on the hesitation.

Tim thought first of wriggling out of it, but then reminded himself 'no secrets', and confessed. "I told him I'd been so glad to have Gibbs back." He smacked himself round the side of the head. "I didn't mean it like that… Really… I'd work for Tony again any time."

Ziva didn't laugh. She said, "Have you ever told him that? Ah… no, but you went with him to – to deal with Saleem."

"We talked about that, Ziva. We'd do it again… He talked about why he teases, and I realised that I've been in on the game for years. So yeah, I guess he knows how I feel. No secrets…" he trailed off thoughtfully.

Ziva said, in that same regretful tone she'd used earlier, "You are right. Keeping things from each other has never led to anything but trouble; we have all learned that the hard way, so many times."

Abby bit her lip and said nothing.

NCISNCISNCIS

Tony saw immediately that Gibbs knew just what he was talking about. It was one of those 'I knew that he knew that I knew' moments that would have been comical on another day, at another time…

The Boss sighed, searching for words. _I don't want to tell him. I don't want him to know. Abby looked at me differently… she really believed she ought to tell Rivera the truth, at least before she understood who he actually was... If it had been anyone but me she would have done. It took her weeks to come_ _round. I put her through that… _He didn't want to do this; but it had been a long time coming, and he only had himself to blame.

Tony waited.

"I know," Gibbs said finally. "You're gonna say it started way before Rota." He hitched his elbow through the balustrade of the staircase and leaned to take the weight off his knee. He looked at the floor. "You're gonna say I was taking things out on you way before I had anything to get mad about."

"Well, yeah," Tony acknowledged. He'd noticed the easing of the bad knee, and glanced at it to let Gibbs know he was aware, but left it to Gibbs to decide what to do about it. "D'you want to tell me when it started, or shall I tell you?"

Gibbs raised his head, and his blue eyes locked with Tony's, and the younger man wasn't sure whether he was allowing him to see the fear in them, or simply couldn't conceal it. "Reckon I'll follow your lead, Tony," he said steadily.

"'Kay…" the younger man began. "Abby goes to Mexico. Meets an instantly dislikeable guy from the Justice Department. And a female drug dealer. Comes back. You go to Mexico. I get sent there twice. Ducky gets a body to autopsy. Jackson gets his store shot up. Lives with you for months. And all the time this is going on, you and Abby are in your own little world. Soulful looks and clandestine conversations."

He shook his head. "We get the female drug dealer, who seems to be after you. Just as well, cuz throughout all this, I'm trying to figure out how to have your six; and every time I tried to get more information, out of you, or out of Vance, I get slammed down. 'Go to Mexico, DiNozzo. Rescue Gibbs. Who – wait a minute – doesn't _need _rescuing. Go to Mexico, DiNozzo, follow Rivera. Oh, but we won't warn you that Franks is there as well. Be a good little agent and do as you're told. I'm thinking Domino all over again, and you settle into this routine of 'don't talk to DiNozzo, just bark at him', and when it's all done I'm thinking, 'it's been a strain, trying to keep his Dad safe all this time, he'll sort things out', so I suck it up…"

He rubbed his chin, and flashed one of those blazing, empty, desperate smiles that Gibbs realised with a jolt he'd first seen in Baltimore ten years ago. "Quite honestly, Boss, my jaw aches all the time from the permanent state of sucking up, and I'd like to stop."

He paused. "You're not a guy who fears much… you don't do fear very well… I reckon it comes out as anger. You don't fear bombs or guys with guns or crooked lawyers… but you're afraid of something, you won't tell me, and you're blaming _me_ for that! You see why you couldn't say 'no more secrets' to me, Boss?"

Still Gibbs hadn't said a word, and Tony wondered whether to go on, or whether he was simply coming over as petulant and the Boss was just waiting for the chance to ream him out. No point in holding back now, then… "If you've got a secret that you share with Abby and not with me, that's... good… I guess. You've known her a long time, and she'll never betray you. But neither will I… and I can't have your six if I don't know what I'm defending you against… unless you don't want me to any more… have your six, I mean… kinda hurts, Boss. I want… no more secrets. I wish you'd tell me what you're afraid of…" He realised his thoughts were becoming too tangled to make sense of, and he choked up too much to go on. "Ah, hell, there – I'm done."

He leaned against the wall again, exhausted. Dum – dum – dum – **dah**-da… that bloody drum was off again, but he thought his heart actually lurched to a dead stop when Gibbs said, in a tone of infinite regret, "What am I afraid of? I'm… afraid of _you_, Tony."

He thought his legs would buckle under him, as he stuttered, "_Me_? Boss?"

Gibbs took a step nearer. "I'm afraid of what you'll think of me…"

"_What_?"

"We uphold the law. We act within it. You weren't happy about Franks gunning a man down in cold blood –"

"Not so much… but I wasn't happy about you not telling me – oh… freakin' hell… this – this is all about you gunning down Hernandez! You thought I'd think you're a murderer?"

"_You knew_?"

**AN: I'm not kidding, this was difficult to write! Thanks to Snoop Mary Mar for her feedback… I've not forgotten your idea, and I WILL use it. Now I'm going to lie down in a darkened room with a brandy to recover!**


	5. Chapter 5

Drake's Drum

Chapter 5

"You knew?" Gibbs repeated incredulously. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You knew all along?"

"Well, yeah, Boss, I –"

"You've _known _all this time? You've known and never said a word? DiNozzo, have you ever heard of the term self-righteous? No secrets! Isn't that what you said?" From being in the younger man's face, he turned sharply, and took a few steps away, seething. "All this time you've let me go on twisting up over wondering what you'd think, and you –"

There was a soft thump behind him, and he stopped. He turned to see Tony sitting on the floor, pale as a ghost, knees drawn up, his back against the wall that he'd slid down. The SFA saw Gibbs turning back and tried desperately to get back to his feet, but the Boss's words had been a sucker-punch on the end of a tense, restless and distracted night, and he just didn't have it in him. Gibbs registered the exhaustion for the first time, and crouched beside him, knees popping. He put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back.

"Stay down," he said sharply.

Tony looked at him wearily. "Boss… If I'd _realised_… Why would you think that I didn't know? And how would I know it was a secret? When have we _talked_ ?"

The look of reproach and pain on his face made Gibbs' anger subside rapidly. The fear that had been in the back of his mind for so long now settled hard in his stomach. Had his awful temper just managed to actually _do_ the very thing he'd feared, and completely alienate one of the few people he loved – certainly the most stable influence in his life?

(Another time he might have laughed at himself for describing Tony as stable – now sure as hell wasn't the time.)

He sat on the floor, facing the younger man, looking at his hands for a moment. "Yep – spoke before I thought," he said quietly. "Don't do it with anyone else, don't know why the hell I do it with you. Cuz you take it and _smile_, I guess. The thing is, I _know_ you would have said something if you'd known what was on my mind – you wouldn't have left me chewing myself up…" He frowned. He would get the word out if it killed him.

"I'm sorry." He waited for Tony to collapse from shock, or make some snarky comment, and at least the tired eyes went wide with surprise, so he knew it had sunk in. "How did you find out?"

Tony shrugged. "Mike Franks. Hell, as soon as I heard that word 'sniper', I knew. Abby wouldn't talk about the case, which confirmed it, so I just talked to Franks as if I already knew everything. He told me how he gave you the opportunity to do it." He was suddenly earnest and reassuring. "He wouldn't be that careless with anyone outside the team, Boss."

Gibbs nodded wryly. "Nice to see you can put one over the likes of Mike," he said, and realised it was the first good word he'd given Tony in weeks. Shit. "Do McGee and Ziva know?"

"I couldn't say. We've not talked much about the case, except to say that if Alejandro ever gets out of prison, you've got another enemy there, Boss. I didn't think you wanted it talked about, so I never encouraged it. But I reckon Ducky added things up a long time ago. You know," he added seriously, "you should tell the others, too."

Gibbs couldn't keep the flicker of expression off his face that said, "Hell, no way," and he knew that Tony had registered it.

"You feared what I'd think. Now you fear what they'd think."

Gibbs said rather diffidently, "You… haven't actually _told_ me what you think yet… you disapproved of Mike taking the law into his own hands that way."

Tony put his forehead on his arms for a moment. This wasn't over… He lifted his head, sat back against the wall, and said measuredly, "OK. You haven't answered my question either, but I'll assume… that if my good opinion is important to you, then you don't actually want me to go."

He raised his eyebrows in question, and Gibbs said, "You assume right…"

The SFA nodded. "So… you have to put up with a Senior Field Agent with double standards, then. The Russians hadn't done to him what Hernandez did to you, and anyway, he isn't you. I didn't like him swanning in this time and involving you, but I have absolutely no problem with what you did then, and I'm glad he helped you. If it had been me, I'd have done the same thing, except that I'm no sniper. OK?" Gibbs nodded slowly. "If you were to ask Ducky, I reckon he'd say the same thing. What I don't get, is why you supposed I'd think any other way…"

"Abby. There are no shades of grey in her world. Her Gibbs committed murder."

"Ah." Like when was his thought process anything like Abby's? When was _anyone's _thought process anything like Abby's? But he understood, and wouldn't ever say, that Gibbs' objectivity always went sideways when anything to do with Shannon and Kelly was involved. "Well, in the real world, grey's the most common colour, Boss."

He looked at his knees again, and took a deep breath. 'Crunch,' he thought, and so, although he didn't realise it, did Gibbs. "We should have talked," he said heavily. "You should have told me, or I should have asked. No matter how bad we thought it might be. We were both afraid of what we might hear, and look where it got us. No more secrets."

"Agreed."

"So, you'll tell Ziva and Tim. And Ducky."

The hesitation was so marked it could have had a cosmic arrow pointing at it.

Tony bumped his head back against the wall and screwed his face up. "Boss, listen to me. I'm not perfect. I'm not wonderful. I'm not even Very Special… and I've never had a problem with rule 51. I've been wrong plenty. But I'm not wrong now. If you can't tell them… It's not even this particular secret that I'm worried about. It's the fact that you say 'no more secrets', but you can't let go of the secretiveness. And if you can't, it'll happen again. If it does…"

His face twisted again, and Gibbs spoke for him. "I've put you through the blender these last weeks, Tony. I understand. You can't do it again."

Deeply unhappy green eyes locked with his, as Tony said quietly and absolutely firmly, "Not can't, Boss. Won't."

Gibbs' stomach heaved. "Go on…"

"Because you don't _have_ to do that to me. Keep secrets, cut me off. There's no reason… I can go on watching your six for ever, Boss; as long as I know what I'm dealing with. There's nothing wrong with my courage, or my heart..." (Except for Drake's Drum beating in it again…) "I can take all the grumpy-bear temper you care to throw my way, and the others' share too… Of _course _I can take it and smile… as long as…" he swallowed and went for it, "As long as I can feel 'son' in there somewhere. I'd endure anything on earth that I had to, _anything necessary_, for you, and the team, and the job. You guys are all I have – I mean, who'd have thought I'd end up thinking of McGeek as a brother – but he's the _best_… and you're at the centre of it all. I never had a secret from you before Jeanne, and I've never had one since. Never will."

"I know that." Gibbs struggled to keep his voice steady. It hurt to listen to Tony laying himself bare like this, but he owed it to him.

"'No secrets' is easy to say. You have to promise me the same and mean it, because I can't live with waiting for this to happen again."

"No… you don't deserve that. And if I can't give you that promise, you'll go."

Tony's voice was barely audible. "I reckon… What else can I do, Boss?"

Gibbs sighed. "If there's one thing I've learned about you over the years, Tony, it's that you'll do what you believe to be the right thing to do, no matter what the cost to yourself."

"You think so?"

Gibbs got to his feet as neatly as he could, and stretched a hand down to his SFA. Tony wobbled slightly as he stood up, and Gibbs put one hand on his back and one on his chest to steady him; he was alarmed when he felt how agitated the younger man's heart was. "Ya OK?"

"I'm good."

They were both well aware that Gibbs had neither promised, nor refused to promise, and it was what the Boss might say when he'd stalled long enough to think about it that was making Tony's heart pound again. _Dum – dum – dum – __**dah**__-da…_They walked back into the bullpen, to find the other three hovering by the elevator door, conversing in low voices. Three pairs of eyes looked at them with a mixture of anxiety and accusation; Abby never said a word.

Tony said cheerfully, "What we need is breakfast. My treat. I'll be right back."

"You going to be OK, DiNozzo?" _(D'you need company?)_

"I'll be fine, Boss."_ (Uh-oh… you stay __**right**__ there.)_

There was no queue at that time of morning, and a short while later, as he walked back in the grey dawn, arms full of coffee and burritos, he wondered if Gibbs would be pleased or peeved that he'd manipulated him into some time without him and _with_ the others… there was no chance, of course, that he didn't _realise_. The Boss could think it over better without him there; and tell them or not… it was easiest for him that way. _'Yeah… sure as hell isn't easiest for me…' _The drum he'd brought all the way back from Rota was beating on his chest and gut, pounding him like physical blows; it was an effort to walk. He was seriously terrified of what he'd find when he got back. And then, out of the blue, he came to a surprising conclusion – and Drake's Drum fell silent.

NCISNCISNCIS

"Gibbs…" Abby began tentatively, "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, Abs… I'm fine." He knew that the tone was anything but.

He wanted to make the promise… he simply wasn't sure if he could. It was like asking the bear not to growl – the trait was so deeply imbedded in his nature now that he didn't know if he could uproot it; but much as he'd like to, he couldn't blame Tony for wanting him to. If he went back to that way of thinking they'd be back to square one even faster than the SFA had foreseen.

Well, if he couldn't say it, and mean it, he was going to lose Tony – fact. _'As long as I can feel 'son' in there somewhere.'_ It may have been oblique, and slotted in as if it were no more significant than the rest of the conversation, but the younger man couldn't have made it clearer where he stood.

Abby decided to try again. "Are you sure? We thought you were going to kill each other."

Tim put his hand on her shoulder. "No, we didn't, Abby. I told you they wouldn't." He paused, and then said quietly, "Boss, is Tony leaving?"

"It's on his mind, yeah." Abby squealed, Ziva drew her breath in sharply and bit her bottom lip. Tim frowned and nodded, sad and unsurprised. "Has he said something to you about it?"

"No, no… I just can't see him accepting things as they are."

Gibbs looked at him closely, alarm bells ringing at something in his tone. He backed very carefully away from being confrontational. "Seems he's not the only one with something on his mind, McGee."

"We don't know he's going, Boss, no point in jumping the gun."

Gibbs still didn't raise his voice. "Tim, I've just been finding out the hard way what happens when we don't say what we're thinking. Don't go there."

Tim nodded, and took a sideways approach that Tony would have been proud of, even if he'd been stunned by the words. "I've been his SFA. I wasn't really ready to be an SFA at all, but I didn't have a problem with being Tony's. I could do it again, happily. Better this time. But I don't think I could be yours, Boss."

The blue eyes were, for once, completely shocked. "You don't?"

Tim's voice was full of regret. "_I_ couldn't do what Tony does. I see the way he handles the job –"

Gibbs' tone was wry. "You mean the way he handles me."

"Yes, Boss. He draws what Abby calls 'the Bear' to him, lets you let it all out, and then lets it all slide off him. And he always knows when to take it seriously, and do something about it. I couldn't do that, Boss. It's something only he knows."

"So if he left… you'd go with him?"

The answer was dragged out of the young agent. "If I could. I couldn't –"

"Handle the way I've been lately. I understand."

"I'm _sorry_, Boss."

"No need to be."

Gibbs sat down on the corner of his desk, fingers curled over the edges. Well, he'd asked. There was a long hiatus, while the girls digested the conversation they'd just heard, and the Boss came to the conclusion that had been hovering since he'd picked Tony up off the floor. (Hurrying along by the river, the SFA was also having his light-bulb moment.) He lifted his head, and to Tim's amazement, he smiled ruefully.

"Campfire," he said. "Need to tell you something."

NCISNCISNCIS

Nobody was surprised. Abby knew anyway, Tim thought it was putting a sniper's training to the best possible use, and Ziva was matter-of-Mossad-fact. Hernandez hadn't deserved the quick, clean kill he'd been dealt.

Gibbs took on the chin the fact that neither of his agents could understand why he'd been so anxious about it, and he didn't blame Abby for having planted the seed in his mind. He knew he'd spend a lot of nights shaping wood in his basement and thinking about the ramifications of this day, but his mind was clear. He heard the hiss of the elevator cables, and got up to meet it. He wanted to tell Tony something plainly, without an audience.

The door slid open, and the overloaded SFA stepped out.

They stopped dead and stood looking at each other.

"I won't let you leave, Tony –"

"Gibbs, I can't quit on you –"

They spoke at the same time, then stopped, regarding each other with astonishment. They laughed and tried again.

"No more secrets –"

"You don't have to tell –"

"Wait a minute," Tony said, "Half an hour ago we're ready to rip the whole thing up, and now we're _both_ backing down?"

"Well… yeah."

"Oh… well, I figured it wasn't right to expect you never to have a secret, Boss."

"And I realised it wasn't right to have secrets that hurt people you care about." He took the bags and tray from the SFA's arms and set them on the floor, and again, they stood looking at each other, warily, wondering if they actually should… They actually did, with a whoop of laughter, and it was the Boss who moved first, grabbing Tony into a brief, hard hug.

"Neither of us really wanted to be where we'd got to," Gibbs said, and Tony thought that was pretty well it.

"You still don't have to tell anyone."

"DiNozzo, I just _did_."

"But –"

"And I still would have done if you'd got back and said that five minutes ago."

NCISNCISNCIS

Tim marvelled at how much it felt as if the last few weeks had never been.

Abby had begun it all by twining herself round Tony and apologising in her unique way. "I'm sorry I thought you were beating Tim up, because of course you'd never do that, and I'm sorry I didn't believe you and I didn't listen and I never noticed and I'm really, really sorry that I said you weren't Gibbs!"

"Well, I'm not, Abs!"

She sighed, and became serious. "But it took me such a long time to realise that was a bad thing to say! I used to say it all the time! I'm glad you're not Gibbs… you're Tony!"

He hugged her. "Yes, Abs… I believe I am."

Ziva had told him not to consider leaving, when he'd hugged her too, and thanked her for her support in Rota, and her early morning appearance to help. "You would have to confiscate all my paperclips before you went, Tony." He'd told her that her paperclips were quite safe.

Tony took a swig of coffee, and grinned at Tim. "You really told Gibbs you'd leave with me?"

They were leaning on the iron balustrade, watching the Anacostia, and Tony was still feeling stunned.

McGee growled, "Gibbs _told_ you?"

"Oh yeah… seemed quite proud of you."

"Proud?"

"Yeah, he was. Said it made him think about some important things."

"Important?"

"Yeah! Jeez, McParrot, what's got into you? Hey, I was proud too."

"Oh. He still shouldn't have told you."

"No secrets, McGee."

"OK," Tim agreed. "No secrets."

There was a screech of brakes and a piercing whistle from behind them. Gibbs leaned out of the window of the agency sedan.

"Hey! You two finished putting the world to rights? We got a case."

Tim shouted, "On it, Boss," and as they ran across the grass, Tony heard in their footsteps one last flourish from El Draco's great drum.

The End

**AN: I hope the about face at the end isn't too unbelievable! And thanks again to Snoop Mary Mar for her great idea about Tim.**


End file.
